


Then if you fall, once and for all

by amusewithaview



Series: Nothing but love in view [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, DARCY DOES MARVEL, F/M, M/M, Perpetual College Student Darcy Lewis, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:13:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1830874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amusewithaview/pseuds/amusewithaview
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam, once he saw where Steve was looking, stood patient under his scrutiny - though his expression grew steadily more amused the longer the silence ran.  “I know I’m a fine specimen,” he finally drawled, “but you haven’t even taken me out for dinner yet.  I’m just not that kinda girl, Rogers.”</p><p>Steve flushed, “Sorry, it’s just…do you have <i>three</i> soulmates?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Follow-up to 'Words on my skin, love in my heart.'</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am trying SO HARD to stay MCU timeline compliant, but _fuck_ Nat's MCU backstory.
> 
> Fuck it _so hard_.

**May 15th, 2014**

The first time Steve saw Sam without a shirt on he did a double take, then outright _stared_. Those were definitely words, albeit in a language Steve had never seen before, wrapped around both of Sam’s arms, and it was pretty easy to see two different people had written them. Then Sam turned around and Steve got another shock: more writing, in English this time.

Sam, once he saw where Steve was looking, stood patient under his scrutiny - though his expression grew steadily more amused the longer the silence ran. “I know I’m a fine specimen,” he finally drawled, “but you haven’t even taken me out for dinner yet. I’m just not that kinda girl, Rogers.”

Steve flushed, “Sorry, it’s just…do you have _three_ soulmates?”

“So the universe tells me. 'Course, it's all still theoretical at this point.”

“Three. Wow,” he shook his head. “And you haven’t met any of them?”

“Nope, still have no clue about the mumbo-jumbo writing, but I got high hopes that I’ll find the excitable one,” he tapped the blocky letters on his chest, “sometime before I’m old and gray.” He turned a pointed look towards the thin cloth covering that encircled Steve’s wrist, “Still looking?”

Steve scowled. “No,” he said shortly, turning back to his rucksack to find a clean shirt. He tensed at Sam’s hastily indrawn breath and realized his movements had quite clearly, albeit unintentionally, highlighted the words on his shoulder.

“…I’m guessing those belong to a certain one-armed sniper?”

“Yeah,” Steve said roughly, “even if he doesn’t remember ‘em.”

“…and _his_ words?” Sam asked in a voice that said he had a good guess, but was really hoping to be wrong. Steve sighed, shoulders falling with his exhale, but finished gathering fresh clothes.

“On his arm.”

“You know they might be – “

“I know, Sam,” Steve said, “but I’m not getting my hopes up.”

 

**May 23rd, 2014**

Nat was on speakerphone, husky voice detailing what she’d found at yet another overrun SHIELD facility. Just a few days after all of SHIELD’s dirty laundry went public, Hydra enacted their “Salt and Burn” initiative and gave their sleeper agents (Sam wasn’t naïve enough to think it was all of them, but he liked to be optimistic and hope it was more than half) orders to create as much damage and chaos as possible.

She was bouncing from place to place, hitting up each and every base, outpost, hideaway, and bolthole she had ever entered or heard tell of in her time with SHIELD. Along the way, she was kind enough to send them everything she could find on the Winter Soldier (little to nothing), and Hydra’s surviving elite (somehow even less).

Sam tuned out for a minute or so, idly wondering how Fury was doing, until –

“What about you boys, taken any downtime, met any girls?”

It wasn’t Natasha’s teasing that made Sam sit up and take notice, it was the way Steve reacted to it: stiffening in the passenger seat of their latest ride, fists and jaw clenched, eyes dark and brow furrowed.

“Nat…” Steve said, tone edged with warning.

“I’m just curious, is all. You were on the TV a lot in the last few weeks – “

“ _Natasha!_ ” Steve barked, and Sam was actually concerned now, because this was the closest to really _angry_ he’d ever seen Steve get. He was not counting Hydra, because Steve was more righteous-determined-disappointed-in-the-human-race in the face of Hydra’s mess, and the whole…Bucky thing was more sad than anything else: and a sad Steve was sort of terrifying, he half expected the sky to cry along with him.

“Haven’t done much interesting besides continue our driving tour of America’s shadiest hotels,” Sam broke in, “we keep _just_ missing Bingo night with Steve’s contemporaries.”

“Well, try and get out into the world a little,” she instructed, teasing gone and actual concern showing through. Then there was a moment of silence on the line, but it was a Natasha silence, and those frequently said more than her actual words did. This one communicated _I’m sorry, but not that sorry_ and _this isn’t over, Steve._ “I’ll keep you posted. Later, boys.”

Sam let silence settle between them in the car for a few minutes. Just long enough for Steve’s muscles to unbunch themselves, and the quiet go from tense to settled. “So…wanna tell me what that was all about?”

Steve lifted his wrist – the covered one, and gave it an exaggerated wave.

“Your words?”

“Yes.”

“She’s seen them?”

“Yes.”

Sam paused, and waited for a moment, “You gonna give me more to go on?”

“She wants me to ‘get out there’ so I can meet ‘em,” he muttered, picking at the black fabric.

“…and that makes you mad.”

Steve made a frustrated sound: “I already _have_ a soulmate. I don’t need another one, I was just – _we_ were just fine with each other. Bucky needs me, right now, I don’t have time to start something new with somebody who’s just gonna split my attention.”

That was just… Sam didn’t know what the hell that was. “Do you have something against the idea of multiple soulmates?” he asked, not looking at Steve because that was the big question, the important one.

“What?” Sam’s eyes were on the road, but he could see Steve’s confused frown turn into horror from his peripheral vision. “No, Sam – I wouldn’t – I don’t – that’s not – that’s got nothing to do with it,” he broke off with a sharp jerk of his head, and Sam could hear him muttering to himself – counting to ten? “Dugan had two soulmates,” he said quietly, “they were sisters, real spitfires. I looked them up: they had four kids together, seventeen grandkids, a few great-grands. Multiples wasn’t exactly invented this century, you know: I’ve seen all sorts of combinations. Especially in the service, overseas. You’re the first I met who’s got three, but it’s not a – I’m not gonna – “

“I think I got it,” Sam interrupted, “you don’t have a problem with poly-bonds.”

Steve shook his head emphatically.

“Just with _having_ a poly-bond.”

Steve scowled at that, then, with a quick jerk, pulled the band around his wrist down so it wasn’t covering his soulmark anymore. Sam looked, since he was practically being _told_ to…and couldn’t stifle a snort.

“Sorry, I just – “

“At least you didn’t laugh,” Steve said tiredly, fixing the band with a few sharp tugs. “Natasha seems to think meeting,” he shook his wrist, “will…I don’t know, fully acclimatize me to the future? She’s treating it like some sort of cure-all, and I – I don’t know. I can’t see how this person is supposed to fit into my life, supposed to be perfect for me. And now, with Bucky being…what he is, it seems even more ridiculous.”

Sam frowned, “You’re basing all this on just a few words from a conversation you haven’t even _had_ yet? And, I mean, uneven poly-bonds are a thing, but you gotta know that the odds are good that if this person's words are on _your_ arm – “

“Bucky’s probably got ‘em too? Yeah,” Steve said, jaw clenching again, “I’ve thought of it.”

“Is it a jealousy thing? You worried you won’t be able to share? You don’t have to answer that, I mean, I know I’m prying. You just seem pretty bent outta shape over something that should be… beautiful.”

“I was Bucky’s,” Steve said softly. “We grew up together, found each other before we were even teenagers. Then I lost him, and I went into the ice, and when I woke up, my skin said I belonged with someone else. But Bucky is _alive_ , and we’re still for each other, no matter what, I guess I don’t…” he trailed off into silence, staring out the window.

Sam sighed, he’d known going with the Cap would be an adventure, he’d thought there was a pretty good chance he’d be using his training on this trip, too – god knew Steve was the very _picture_ of a recently toured soldier - but he’d never expected this. He thought for a minute, trying to figure out how to word his concern without setting the other man off. “I know things are crazy right now,” he started slowly, “but Steve, you gotta promise me something.”

“What?”

“Think about how this other person is gonna feel when he or she meets you. They’ve got no idea what they’re getting into, but they’ve grown up with your words on their skin. You’ve only known about them for a few months, but they’ve had _years_. And, whether or not they’ve got Bucky’s words, too, they’re gonna have to figure out how to fit themselves into and around your relationship with him. That wouldn’t be easy on the best days, just… try not to be too hard on them?”

Steve blew out a breath, “I promise.”

“Besides,” Sam said, faux-casual, “they’re right: you are a lot more muscular in person.”

The betrayed look on Steve’s face was totally worth the stony silence that lasted till the next motel.


	2. Chapter 2

**November 6th, 2013**

“So, you’re here… _permanently?_ ” Darcy asked.

“I will still make myself available should Asgard have true need of me, but, yes. My place is with Jane, and Jane is here,” Thor answered, a soft smile on his face as he looked through the sliding door that separated the two of them on the balcony from the rest of the (now somewhat cramped) apartment.

Ian was cleaning up the remnants of dinner while Jane and Erik caught up, which was an odd mixture of Jane being concerned over Erik’s obviously still somewhat scattered mental state and the two of them geeking out over the recent…crazy planetary alignment weirdness, or whatever they were officially calling it.

“Jane told me some of what happened, about your mom and brother,” Darcy blurted after a moment, knowing she was fumbling but unable to _not_ say something, “I’m sorry you lost them, Thor. I…yeah.”

Thor looked down, blonde hair falling forward to hide his features. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I know you and yours have little cause to mourn my brother, but I thank you.”

“…do you want a hug?”

“Yes, Darcy, a hug would be…most appreciated.”

**November 9th, 2013**

Darcy walked out of her room and instantly clapped a hand over her eyes. “Thor!”

“I am following your rules, Darcy, I am covered!”

“By a _towel_ , Thor, it is _too early in the day_. Where are your clothes?!”

“Jane told me they must be washed, but she left with Erik before telling me how this was being achieved…?” His explanation had her cracking her fingers enough to see his face, which was caught somewhere halfway between apology and frustration: “What, precisely, would you have me do?”

“I’m sorry, Thor, I guess I hadn’t really thought about it. You can’t wear the armor all the time, can you?”

“Nay, it would begin to, ah, chafe. Nor can I wear it out in the city and remain…unmolested.”

“Well,” Darcy said, grinning a little, “you _have_ sort of saved the world. _Twice_ , by my count, and that sort of thing tends to lead to a little hero worship. Plus, throw in the Brit’s laws about paps being more lax in what they can get away with printing and…it’s kind of surprising we’ve managed to maintain _any_ level of privacy. Can’t really see it lasting, though.”

“I will ask again, what would you have me _do?_ ”

She stood there, trying to think through what they could possibly do while one part of her brain noted that Thor was from a warrior culture, _of course_ he wanted a clear enemy to fight, or, failing that, a clear objective. “Coffee,” Darcy said decisively, “first coffee, then we can figure out this…madness.”

Three cups of coffee (mostly Darcy’s) and six grilled cheese sandwiches later (mostly Thor’s), they had an itinerary. Sort of. It was still being, hah, ‘hammered out.’

“I would agree that clothing is most important, but what is a ‘press conference?’”

“Short answer: a public meeting where somebody important has something to say that should probably be heard by a lot of people, so he or she invites a bunch of reporters and other press representatives to come and listen and hopefully be honest about what is said. The longer answer involves a discussion of freedom of speech and cable TV, so lets just leave it at that for now. You’re planning on staying here semi-regularly, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then you need to let people know. I mean, SHIELD definitely knows you’re here…actually, they’re probably why we haven’t been really bothered yet, which is sort of creepy if you think about – never mind. _People_ , the ones you run into on the street, need to know you’re here because you want to _stay_ , not because we need to worry about another alien invasion. Or an Asgardian invasion, come to think of it.”

Thor frowned, “It is possible my friends may visit from time to time, but to invade? My father recognizes Midgard as its own entity and, now that it has been brought into the galactic fold, will likely offer aid should you have need of it – “

“In return for what?”

“Generally, the agreement involves a promise to promote peace.”

“With other realms, or with each other? Because I think we can promise the one, but the other…?”

“I…do not think the All-Father will wish to get involved in the disputes between your nations.”

“But you’re not 100% sure,” Darcy pointed out, “whatever, we’ll table that one for now. The point is, you need to give people some answers so they don’t assume you’re hiding stuff. Open a dialogue. _Something._ ”

Thor nodded, and Darcy spared a moment to be _incredibly grateful_ that she was dealing with a prince, who had a background in government – even if it was an alien government – instead of one of the rank-and-file who had never had to think about crap like this before.

“How would you suggest we do this? These ‘paps,’ as you call them, seem to wish to get ‘quotes’ from me, but I do not think that that is what you mean.”

“No, it’s not. Hmph. Let me think about it a little longer? In the meantime, though: _pants_. You can probably wear the leggings things that you use with your armor and borrow one of Erik’s shirts so we can go shopping. I mean, you’ll look sort of like a Ren-fair escapee, but that’s sort of your default mode.”

“I had thought there was no barrier the All-speak could not overcome, before I met you.”

“…I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

**November 11th, 2013**

If, a few years ago, you had asked Darcy Lewis if she would ever have a conversation with the CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, she would have offered a flippant, “Sure, in my speech against rampant consumerism on capitol hill.” If you had asked a few months ago, she would have returned with a serious, “Maybe. Is the billionaire a physicist? Or Asgardian?”

Pepper Potts was neither of those things, but that didn’t stop her from being one of the most intimidating people Darcy had ever spoken to. She wasn’t even _trying_ to be intimidating, she was just _talking_ , and trying to help Darcy figure out the next move for the gang (since Thor was definitely sticking with Jane, and where Jane went so went Darcy’s nation). It wasn’t Ms. Pott’s fault that Darcy couldn’t seem to stop thinking: ‘I wrote a paper on you once’ over and over and over until – 

“I wrote a paper on you.”

Darcy deeply regretted that cell phones did not have cords with which to strangle oneself after divulging deeply embarrassing information to people one wished desperately to impress, or, at least, _not fuck up in front of._

There was a pause. “Was it flattering?” Ms. Potts, CEO of Stark Industries and all around badass business lady, asked finally, voice very, _very_ neutral.

“Um. I sort of said I wanted to be you? Or at least _like_ you, when I – um, eventually?”

“Well, then,” Ms. Potts, _holy Thor she was talking to Pepper Goddamn Potts_ , said, tone fractionally warmer, “I don’t think it’s something to be worried over. Now, you wanted to know about relocating to New York?”

“Yeah, turns out that Thor knows more about this science stuff than he thought he did, and the paps here are sort of all over us, and really there’s no reason for us to stay now that the alignment thingy isn’t mucking up the…science stuff – “

As she continued to discuss the logistics of the move with Pepper Goddamn Potts (!), including accommodations for Jane, Thor, Erik, Ian, and herself (!!) in Stark Tower (!!!), Darcy found herself rubbing her fingers absently over the words on her wrist.

 _I wish I could share this with you,_ she thought, _I hope you’d be excited for me. And,_ she thought of the words on her ankle, _I hope you're both okay. Wherever you are._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost character-tagged this with "Pepper Goddamn Potts."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to stop making proclamations because apparently my muse thinks they're funny.

**April 11th, 2014**

He does not know these people. Does not remember any of them. He wanders through the displays, shoulders hunched and face tilted down towards the ground, expression hidden under his ball cap, but he keeps his eyes moving. It is…strange, to be surrounded by so many people and have no real _purpose_.

This is not a mission.

He is not on assignment.

The handlers change every time, but the protocol remains the same. He _remembers_ that: wake up, cold and shaking on the cot. Pace the room, get blood moving, muscles stretching. Wait for the tray, eat the food, drink the water. Wait for a voice, follow the instructions: sit, stay still while the men in white coats – always men in white coats – come in and strap him down. Wait some more. There is always another Man, _the_ Man, and sometimes there are other men with him, but they are easily ignored. The Man will have a Mission for him.

Do the Mission. Ignore all else: nothing matters but the Mission, nothing matters –

But there is always _something_ , he must be a flawed weapon, because he cannot help but pick up a little something while he completes his Missions. He does not remember what it is, or was, that he saw, or heard, or did, or said, but the failure is a part of the protocol.

Finish the Mission, return to base, go to the Chair.

He always ends up in the Chair.

He thinks he tried to refuse once, maybe, but whenever he tries to remember he gets a headache and headaches interfere with the protocol, sometimes even with the Mission. He has to complete the Mission, go to the Chair, and forget his failure – whatever it is, this time.

He knows he fails, somehow, every time. His failures always make him look down: it is a reflex, but an odd one. People look down to show deference, and he knows that that is what the Man, and the men, take it to be from him, but he thinks he’s looking for something when he looks down at his arms – one metal, the other wrapped in soft black cloth - bound to the Chair, while they lecture him…

But he does not really remember.

He looks at the pictures of the man called ‘Steve Rogers’ and his heart beats faster. He does not remember the man, but he _knows_ him. He _knows_ him. That is not part of the protocol; it made him fail his Mission. He could not kill the man, he tried, he almost succeeded, but he could not watch the man, _Steve Rogers_ , fall.

He has always been a flawed weapon, but now he thinks he might be…broken.

He cannot go back to base. But he also…does not _want_ to.

He does not remember the last time he _wanted_ something.

**April 14th, 2014**

He has a few skills that make it possible for him to survive, ones he has used in the past, on Missions. He is not on a Mission now, but the skills are still useful to him. He is sure, even if his face is not on the television, that there must be people looking for him. He is sure that the Man is looking for him, probably not the same Man who gave him his last – his _failed_ \- Mission, because there is no tolerating failure from men, but there is always another Man. A new Man can always be found.

And, he knows, the weapon can be forged anew.

But…he _does not want to go back._ It is strange, it leaves him aimless, drifting. He has no Mission, because he did not kill the man. The man is alive. It is easy to follow his recovery; every television is broadcasting news of the events of his failed Mission. Every television is full of well-wishes for Steve Rogers as he recovers in the hospital.

He finds himself watching the television more than the threat level when he is near one.

He stops going into places with televisions.

The museum told him who the man was and it also showed him James “Bucky” Buchanan Barnes, a dead man with the face of a weapon. He is…disturbed by this. He knows that that is his face. He _knows_ that name, just like he _knew_ Steve Rogers.

He _knows_ but he does not _remember_.

He is not sure if he wants to remember, but he needs to know more to make a choice.

He has not made many choices, that he can recall.

**April 15th, 2014**

He has left the city, is traveling west. The empty freight car does not make for the safest of resting spots, but he is relatively comfortable. He is not sure where he will get off, yet. He has not _decided_. It is strange to be making so many decisions, not for a Mission, but merely because he can. He _can_.

Still, there is one decision he has been putting off.

He sits down, cross-legged, on the floor of the car with his back to the wall. It makes him feel a little uncomfortable, not knowing what is out there on the other side of the car’s wall, but he is confident in his ability to survive just about anything. He _knows_ that he has survived many things that would kill normal men.

Weapons are, after all, made to withstand much.

There is an array of clothing spread before him. Items he has pilfered from various stores while he prepared to leave the city make a colorful assortment. He is not entirely at ease with all of the colors, but he has seen that most people wear more than one at a time. He cannot continue to wear his suit: it is extremely dirty, even – or especially, with him wearing a sweatshirt over the upper half to disguise it.

He slowly strips off the shirt, pushing it down to rest around his waist, and regards the shirts. After a time, he selects the red one: it will disguise blood best and help him fade into the shadows at night. The shirt is very soft, and has long sleeves.

He looks down at his arms and sees shiny metal and black cloth. He flexes his fingers in his glove, it is gritty against the skin of his right hand, dirtier than it has ever been. He is not going back to base. The men will not be cleaning his suit while he freezes in the Box. He does not need to continue wearing the glove, he does not _want_ to.

Still, it is…strange. The glove, the covering on his arm, is a part of the protocol. Yes, he has broken it: first by deliberately failing his mission, again by deciding not to return to base, but he is not supposed to touch the glove. He _knows_ this. Very slowly, he tugs at the glove on his right hand, peeling it off and watching as the skin beneath is revealed.

His hand is very white, save for the pink lines that extend almost to his fingers, trailing from his wrist. There is a solid band of similarly discolored skin two inches wide that encircles the bend of his wrist and encompasses the bottom of his hand, with little runnels of discoloration tracing up his arm and down towards his fingers.

In the center of the band, on the underside of his wrist, there are words in scratchy black handwriting. He did not write the words, and he is sure neither the men, nor the Man, had anything to do with them being put there. He is almost certain that the discoloration was their doing, but he _knows_ the words were not.

He is not sure whose words they are, but he is…curious.

**April 26th, 2014**

He has started to remember.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU **RAINNE!**
> 
> There will be one more chapter needed to get Darcy up to speed (past CA:tWS with the boys).

**December 13th, 2011**

Darcy folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair, glaring at the two-way mirror that made up one wall of the room she was in. This was the _second time_ she’d been detained by SHIELD this semester. ‘Big Brother’ was _really_ into looking over her shoulder, especially since she’d complained to Jane about them. This was just another step in their weird sort of dance because _she_ knew exactly how far they could legally push her and _they_ knew Jane (and possibly Erik) would raise holy hell if she suddenly dropped off the grid, but she _also_ knew about two little words that could, possibly, provide a solution for everyone:

“Student loans,” she said to the mirror, and then patiently waited until a vaguely creepy-sinister looking bald guy in a gray suit came into the room. He took his time situating himself in the chair across the table from her, fiddling with a medium-sized file that, if she leaned over, she was sure would be labeled ‘Lewis, Darcy.’

“Excuse me? ‘Student loans?’” he finally said, eyebrows lifted. At least he was doing her the courtesy of refraining from pretending he _hadn’t_ been watching her from the other side of the glass.

“Look, _I_ want to stay with Jane, _Jane_ wants me to keep working with her, _you_ want me to keep my mouth shut. I’m just offering this up as a possible solution that leaves everybody happy.” She’d actually given this a lot of thought, especially since they’d first yanked her in here. “You’ve offered me a couple of jobs that look like busywork, although I gotta admit, those salaries were tempting. _But_ what if you could pay me basically nil _and_ keep your eye on me with Jane? I’m just asking for this one, teensy little thing…” she wheedled.

“You want us to pay off your student loan debt?”

“ _And_ pay off any and all tuition-related expenses I accrue… for the rest of my life.”

He gave her a dubious look.

Darcy smiled persuasively, “It’s a no-lose proposition, dude. You get my silence, _and_ a more educated worker bee in the massive hive that is the science side of the future. Plus,” she said, giving him her most sincere face, “I’m basically already done with this degree, and, I mean, there’s not really a guarantee I’ll get accepted anywhere else, throw me a bone here!”

He agreed, probably more to shut her up than anything else, he’d been _very_ taken aback by her opening salvo during their first meeting: “I’m Darcy Lewis, I’ve tazed a god and I will not be trifled with. ‘Trifled’ is a cool word, isn’t it?”

Free tuition for life? She’d have signed just about any contract they threw at her to get _that_ deal. Thankfully, they didn’t seem to think all that much of her (skills, smarts, personality). She supposed, when stacked next to Jane, she didn’t really look like much.

More fools they.

**November 12th, 2013**

Organizing the move to New York became shockingly easy once Pepper Potts’ Planning Skills ™ and Tony Stark’s ridiculous wealth got involved. Within a few hours she had a plan, a _good_ plan, and, with her arguments gathered, she mustered herself for what would easily be the hardest part of the move: convincing Jane that it was a good idea.

“New _York?_ ” Jane asked, “Stark _Tower?_ Why would we go _there?_ ”

“Um, because there’s no real reason to stay _here?_ Plus, we wouldn’t just be _going_ there, we could _stay_ there. Live _and_ work in one building, and - bonus! – it’s _really_ well-guarded by Stark’s awesome security. Think about it: no paps trying to follow you when you go to the corner market, almost unlimited resources – “

“And what am I signing _away_ in order to get this?” the scientist asked warily.

“Your soul.”

“ _Darcy._ ”

“What? Do you _know_ how paranoid you sound? Geez, Jane. It’s a pretty standard contract, actually. I compared it with the one they post online for potential applicants to Stark Industries, and there are no weird loopholes or surprises written in just for you. The biggest deviation is that they’re offering _accommodations_ for Thor, Erik, you, me, and even Ian!”

Darcy wasn’t entirely certain how she felt about that last. Ian had been a little skittish around her since the kiss - “We’re not soulmates.” “No, I know, but there was a Moment, okay?” - but all in all, he was a nice guy, even if he was suffering from a truly deplorable lack of common sense. He was also their only intern, even if her job title was _technically_ ‘intern,’ that was more so SHIELD could get away with paying her a grad student salary (to go along with her free schooling). She wasn’t sure he would _want_ to follow them to New York, but it was cool that he had the option.

“They’re doing this for Thor,” Jane said, interrupting Darcy’s train of thought and setting off all sorts of warning bells in her head because something in the scientist’s voice was… _off_.

“They’re doing this because they’ve been _trying_ to do this? For a while?”

“What do you mean?”

Darcy shifted through some of the paperwork she’d brought with her, “There’ve been six different emails from Stark Industries over the past few months, all asking if you have any interest in working with or for them. They’ve all been variations on this same contract, Ms. Potts forwarded them to me to show me the time and date stamps…do you _ever_ check your spam filter?”

“…yes?”

“On a regular basis?”

“Okay, no, but I’ve had the same account for almost ten years,” Jane explained, “I’ve got all the spam filters set up just how I want them!”

That was just…Darcy didn’t know where to start with that, oh wait, yes she did: “Technology changes, Jane, the _sorting algorithms_ change, you need to – “ She took a deep breath, “Okay, it doesn’t really matter right now. They want you to come science for them, they want to pay you _really well_ to come science for them, the science you do for them will still be your own, and you will be _heavily encouraged_ to publish and do all the other things you couldn’t do before.”

“No downside…really?”

“Really really.”

“And you think it’s a good idea, for all of us?”

“Jane,” Darcy grabbed the other woman’s hands and drew her closer so she could look directly into her eyes, “this is the _dream research position_ that professors spend all their office hours telling students doesn’t exist so they won’t get their hopes up. They want to fund you, they want to give you access to resources, if they could duplicate your brain, they would probably want to hire all your clones, too…that sounded less creepy in my head.”

Jane laughed, and this time she actually _looked_ at the contract, giving it the same level of attention she would one of her academic journals (one of the ones she clutched at and grumbled over and eventually attacked with a red pen, and sometimes scissors). Darcy left her to it, confident that, within the next few hours, Jane would come find her, bursting with excitement over the proposed funding and resources.

…

Erik was nowhere near as hard a sell: “Wanna go back to New York? Live in Stark Tower?”

“What? Sure, the place looked nice when I was breaking in under Loki’s control,” he told her genially, and she would never get over the flippant way he referred to that time. “On a time crunch, you know, so I didn’t really get a chance to see their facilities.”

“I’m sure they’re very nice. You will have to wear pants, though.”

Erik sighed, deeply put upon, “Even in my private lab? Do I get a private lab?”

“You get a lab and…” she sighed, he was no less sharp now than he’d been before everything, but he had been altered by his experiences. Erik was now much less guarded, much more trusting than he had been pre-Loki, and it made her want to take care of him - especially now that she’d seen what could happen to him if he was left to his own devices. “I’ll see what I can negotiate,” she told him, “but you will _always wear pants in the halls_ , okay, Erik?”

“I suppose, if I must,” he said grudgingly.

“You’ll just have to confine all pants-less genius to private areas,” Darcy said, then winced, “…something _else_ that sounded better in my head.” She turned to go, then stopped abruptly as something occurred to her. “Erik?”

“Yes?”

“Have you considered kilts? Best of both worlds?”

Erik’s face slowly lit with a sunny smile. “Darcy, you’re _brilliant!_ ”

 _And sick of seeing your old man underoos._ “I try.”

…

Thor was cautiously excited about the prospect of seeing Tony again. “We worked well together in the battle in New York, I would be glad of the chance to spar with him. I do not know…” he frowned, thinking. “At the present there seems to be little need for my skills here on Midgard,” he said slowly, “but I do not enjoy idleness.”

“Well,” Darcy said, “and please don’t take this as an insult, but, what _are_ your skills? Besides Mewlnoring?”

He winced at the pronunciation, but gamely pressed on, “I am trained in diplomacy, and all the basic disciplines. An Asgardian prince must be well-rounded in the arts of his people, how else can he understand their problems and represent their interests?”

“…I can’t decide if I really like the way you run things, or really hate it,” Darcy muttered. “Okay, well, I think Mr. Stark, at least, would probably be interested in what’s ‘basic’ science to you. Honestly, _I’d_ be interested in learning more about your governing structure and the rest of the nine realms – “ suddenly she had an idea…an awful idea. Darcy got a wonderful, awful idea: “Thor, what do you know about American colleges?”

…

Darcy wasn’t 100% sure how to approach Ian, so she went with her usual: “Stark Tower, moving there, working there, being funded and/or paid by…there. What are your thoughts, questions, comments, and/or concerns?”

Ian dropped his tablet and jumped like a startled cat, “ _Jesus_ , Darcy, why would you – wait, Stark Tower? They want to fund Dr. Foster?”

“Yep.”

“And they offered _all_ of us contracts?” he asked cautiously.

“Well, yours and mine are to-be-negotiated, but Erik and Jane – yeah. They’re gonna let us bunk _at the Tower_ and pay us at least a basic living wage, but I got the impression that Ms. Potts is all about putting the right tool to work in the perfect spot, so she wanted to leave some leeway.” It was probably at least a little weird how excited Darcy was at the prospect of being useful to Pepper Potts.

“I’ll consider it,” Ian decided, then picked up his tablet and went back to work.

Well, okay then. “Let me know if you have any questions?”

“Will do,” he waved a hand at her absently.

Darcy rolled her eyes as she walked off, _Scientists._

…

**November 17th, 2013**

Sitting in Pepper Potts’ office was kind of awesome, and terrifying. Everything was very…bright: large windows, good lighting, a _whole_ lot of chrome and yeah, definitely the sort of place she figured the people who 'invented the future' would work. Darcy tried very hard not to fidget while the redhead went through a file, _her_ file. It felt very much like her meeting with that SHIELD guy, only she was about 90% sure that _this_ file _wasn’t_ for show. Although it might still be part of an intimidation tactic.

“So,” Pepper (she’d told Darcy to call her ‘Pepper,’ and Darcy was hanging onto her cool with her fingertips), “what role, exactly, do you see yourself playing here?”

“Well, I kind of figured I’d…keep on keepin’ on? Babysit the scientists?”

The corner of Pepper’s mouth twitched, “Yes, they do seem to need that from time to time.”

“I mean, I do other stuff too. I’m kind of Jane’s…jill-of-all-trades.” Darcy shrugged, “I collate data, work simple machines, take down readings, fix equipment, make sandwiches…I don’t understand all the science, but I get _people_.”

Pepper ‘hmmed’ at her, studying Darcy with her sharp blue eyes. “How would you feel about expanding your purview? With a comparable raise in salary and full benefits, of course.”

“What would that mean, exactly?”

“That you would extend your assisting to two other scientists, and me, indirectly.”

“…pardon?”

Pepper smiled, “There are two other scientists who regularly use the private lab facilities that Dr. Foster has been given access to. One of them is Tony Stark, the other is Dr. Bruce Banner,” she studied Darcy, who gave her her best ‘you’ve lost me’ shrug. “Dr. Banner is more commonly known as the ‘Hulk’ in the media.”

“Ohhhhh,” Darcy said eloquently. “Will he be, um, _Hulked_ while he works?”

Pepper laughed, “Hopefully not. While neither Tony nor Bruce will probably _need_ your help with their work, you would make yourself available to them and also…”

“Make sure they eat and take breaks from time to time?”

“Something like that.”

“And you’ll give me a salary increase for all this?” she asked, frowning.

“Yes,” Pepper was watching her carefully, “that’s the idea.”

“I’m not really sure – I mean I’m totally happy to do whatever, but…I mean, I’m not going to object to _money_ ,” Darcy finally said, trying to compose her thoughts into something resembling order.

“That seems to be exactly what you’re doing right now,” the redhead pointed out.

“Well,” Darcy said slowly, “I mean, I like money, don’t get me wrong, paying for stuff is always cool, but…I mean I’d rather - you could always take over from SHIELD, give me a basic salary, and, um, this is kind of embarrassing, but I sort of had a tuition-waiver deal with SHIELD? For life?”

“And you’d like that continued?”

“…yes?”

Pepper considered her: “According to your file, you have all the credits necessary to graduate with _two_ different bachelor’s degrees at this point, one in political science, the other in physics. You just haven't applied for graduation.”

“I sort of like being a perpetual student, and with Jane's internship and then the contract with SHIELD, I had the means, so…why not?” Darcy explained. “Plus there’s a certain amount of downtime when assisting genius, what with the waiting for experiments to finish and data to collate. Not to mention the sleep-what’s-sleep crashes.” She shrugged, trying not to look as sheepish as she felt, explaining her (admittedly rather odd) life choices to Pepper, “I like keeping busy?”

“Alright, I will accept your proposal, under two conditions: one, that you apply for graduation and _actually get_ the degrees you’ve earned, and two, that you consider graduate work, at some point.”

She pretended to mull it over. “Maybe after another bachelors or two,” she eventually declared. “I’m part of the way into a bio program, but there’re a lot of ‘science’ degrees I’ve gotta get through before grad school: social science, health science, maybe even some more math-science to go with the physics degree.”

Pepper snorted, “Tony’s going to love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, this storyline is probably the closest to how I perceive canon!Darcy.


End file.
